


Help, I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

by spasticVocalist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Another fucking highschoolstuck, Bullying, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I apologize for so many things, M/M, Oh, and stabdads, but johns still the one that everyone makes fun of, cant forget stabdads, hnnrg but puns, i have so many regrets, im drowning in cliché, jesus christ help, kks the albino new kid, once i actually write that part, one of which is the title, seriously, who the fuck let me post something im not finished with yet, youll get it eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:58:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasticVocalist/pseuds/spasticVocalist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat moves; that means a new school, a new schedule, and a new realm of bullies to educate. He's used to it though. When your dad is a mobster, you tend to relocate quite a bit. It also helps if you're trained decently in at least six different  forms of self defense.<br/>Oh, and it doesn't hurt that the quiet guy offering his seat to Kar is pretty cute, too.<br/>Or that a lot of Karkat's old friends also happen to go to his new school and/or happen to live in the same area.<br/>Although, it is a little unnerving, to say the least, when his dad gets a <i>job</i>, as <i>janitor</i> no less, to "flirt" with the school nurse...<br/>Ugh. Fuck life. </p><p> </p><p>so i feel like i should probably go ahead and tell you that this will not update in any feasible form of regularity<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Karkat: Walk in.

You stand at the front of the classroom, ratty lunchbox in hand, book bag - in no better condition - loosely clinging to your back, and your signature scowl plastered to your face. You are currently waiting for the old hag that you assume to be the teacher to look up from whatever it is that she is doing and notice you. You don't say or do anything because you want to see just how long it takes for the oblivious scholar to acknowledge your presence and do something about it. Although, you have been waiting for at least five minutes now, and it's beginning to become a bit tiresome. 

You feel a burning sensation on the back of your neck, causing you to turn around. This action confirms your sneaking suspicion that every single kid in the classroom is staring at you like you are the most interesting thing to ever walk through the door. That is, every kid except that _one guy_ in the back. He just seems to be gazing at his desk. You don't see anything on it, so you assume that he must be deep in thought about something. You decide that you like that kid.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't see you there. Did you need something?" The woman asks, seeming slightly surprised as she finally notices you. 

Turning back to her, you hand her the papers that the front office gave you, in favor of speaking. You have found that keeping your mouth shut can occasionally be beneficial to everyone's health - mental or otherwise.

She adjusts her glasses and looks down her nose at the forms you gave her. "Oh," she murmurs. Her gaze quickly shifts up to you, before returning to the paper, and then finally coming to rest on you again. "Did the principal not walk you here? He usually does that for new students." A few kids perk up at this. You can feel them silently judging you - sizing you up. Probably wondering why you're wearing sunglasses. Why you're so pale. Why you're wearing an oversized, black sweater when it's "not even that cold outside" - as you know they are going to say. Well, fuck them. When you live in a southern coastal town, where the coolest it gets during the summer is 80°F - maybe 70°F if you're _really_ lucky - for two years, then 35°F is fucking freezing. 

You take a moment to glare at them (not that they could see it through your aviators, but you honestly couldn't give any fewer fucks) before replying to the teacher with, "I told them that I could make it here myself without getting lost like a toddler that lost track of it's mother's whereabouts in a supermarket." She looks at you, her expression an odd mixture of surprise, incredulousness, and slight confusion. "They did give me directions and a map, though." You add, taking said map out of your pocket and holding it up, in an attempt to soothe her doubts/worries. If that was indeed the emotion that was currently deciding to plague the elderly woman's features.

She clears her throat and shuffles the papers back into a stack. "Well then, K-... Ka-... er, Kerket?"

You sigh. They never get your name right. "It's Karkat." You briskly correct her. 

"Karkit. Right." She says absentmindedly as she stands, the worn chair creaking beneath her. 

Once she has stood and smoothed her outfit, she places a hand between your shoulders and steers you to the center of the front of the room. Clearing her throat, she addresses the class. "Alright guys. We have a new student, so I would like to introduce to you all, Mr. Karkat Ventaz." Great. She's the traditional type. And she mispronounced your name again. But only your last name. Fucking brilliant. 

You try as hard as fucking possible to be polite as you correct her, _again_.

"My apologies, Mr. Vantass." God fucking damn it. The mispronunciation earns itself quite a few snickers and giggles, unsurprisingly. 

You facepalm in exasperation.

"Just sit wherever you want. Kar-ker-" She fumbles your name as she gestures vaguely towards the class. You sigh as you mumble yet another correction.

The assholes you now call your classmates giggle again. Seriously? What are they in – kindergarden? Laughing at the new kid's name. Oh, haha. He must be from some foreign country. Fucking hilarious. 

News flash - you just moved from Georgia, not fucking Japan.

At this rate, your mouth won't stay shut much longer. 

You ungracefully make your way back to the only remaining seat. "Sit wherever you want" your ass. 

Amazingly, you dodge the multiple out-stretched legs attempting to trip you up. Wow. These guys are very original. 

The desk happens to be directly behind quiet-guy, but just before you reach it, he stands up, effectively blocking your path. "Here, take mine." He says quickly. 

You are prepared to reject his offer when a scoff and a collection of whispers start up behind you. He flinches and looks at you pleadingly through thick-framed, rectangular glasses. 

Shit his eyes are really blue. How is it even possible to have eyes that blue? They're so blue, it can't be natural. Can it? It can't be possible to be born with eyes the color of a Pepsi can. Well, you shouldn't be one to talk. It's not like you have a... "common" eye color yourself. 

The rest of him isn't that bad either. Pale skin (though not as pale as yours) contrasts wind swept, jet-black hair; a few freckles sprinkle the bridge of his not-quite-sharp-but-not-round-either nose; and a strong jaw make up his face. He's short, maybe 5'3" (about your hight, which happens to be 5' even), and h–

The assholes are back to giggling, and you can only hope that it looked like you were sizing him up and not checking him out. 

You pretend to examine the desk he offered you to hide your embarrassment. 

"Whatever," you grumble. You hear him sigh quietly in relief. When he bends down to get his things, he whispers, "Thanks." You nod in reply and rub the back of your neck.

After he has gathered the rest of his things and absconded, you toss your stuff down beside the desk, take a seat in the still slightly warm chair ( _eww_ ), and retrieve a notebook and pencil from your bag.

Looking back up, you find that the assholes are still staring at you, but when Mrs. Egbert's phone rings, their heads snap towards the sound like a stray dog smelling food.

She lets it ring once before picking it up. "Hello?... Really?... Are you certain?... You want me t-... Right now?... Al-... Yes... Alright. I'll be there in a moment... Yes. I will get Ms. Postal to keep an eye on them... Ok... Alrighty then. Bye-bye... Yes, I'm coming... Good-bye." She sighs as she hangs up and gets out of her chair. Walking to the front of the room, she addresses the ~~assholes~~ class. "Alright. That was the vice principle, Mrs. Prosarch. She needs me in the front office for some reason, so I'll be gone for a bit. Ms. Postal will be sticking her head in for me, so I will know if any of you are acting up. Behave well and I'll bring in a fresh batch of cookies tomorrow." The assholes perk up at this. You assume that her baking is good if it can get these simpletons' attentions.

With that, she exits the room.

And, of course, the assholes find this to be the perfect time to talk. "Hey, Fagbert! Why'dya move away from us? Don't you like us anymore?" Or, more accurately, they find it to be the perfect time bully someone. "Yeah, Eg-gay! We don't wanna do nuthin' but be your friends!" The rest of the assholes laugh at this. "Heh heh. Come back, Johnny Boy! We won't bite! ('Cause _we_ don't swing that way!)" The last part of that had been whispered, to use the term loosely (very, _very_ loosely) causing another chorus of laughter to sound.

Great. So, this is one of _those_ schools. Filled to the brim with homophobes and bullies.

You stay quiet and keep your head down, because you know that if you don't, then you'll start talking, and if you open your big mouth, then you won't be able to shut it. The teacher is sure to be coming back any minute, and with your vocabulary, it's probably best for you to stay quiet. You'd rather not get detention on your first day. (You've tried it before; it wasn't the most enjoyable experience.)(Also, past you was a retarded piece of shit, and fuck you hard in the ass if you were going to make the same mistakes as him.)

Then one of the assholes gets up and "swags" back to Quiet-kid's desk. 

How fun - it looks like two of his back-up dancers are joining him.

Once they reach Quiet-kid, they are out of your line of sight; so you can't see what they're doing, but you know it can't be good. 

"Well, now that Granny's gone there's no one to protect you, is there?" You assume that this is the head-hauncho speaking. "Huh? Oh, new kid here – Katness, is it?… Well, whatever-his-name-is ain't gonna do nuthin', are ya?" You completely ignore him when he attempts to address you. You ignore the fact that he called you by the name of the heroine of a popular book/movie series. You ignore the fact that he used a double negative. You ignore the fact that this jerk-wad exists in hopes that believing in his non-existence will make it so.

"See? Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Believing never has worked for you. 

"W-what do you want?" He's actually giving in to those assholes?

"I wan'cha to tell me somethin'." Wait, what?

"Huh?" It seems as though Quiet-kid is just as confused as you are.

"He said he wants ya ta tell 'im somethin'!" That guy is going to make a perfect evil minion one day. Grade A goon. Maybe even mofia hired muscle. Yup. That guy is going to go far.

"Now, now. I think he heard me. Didn'cha John?" A pause. You assume that Quiet-kid – no, the guy had called him John. Maybe that was his actual name? Well, you assume that _John_ nods. "Good. But, _admit_ would probably be a better word... I wan'cha to _admit_ somethin' for me Egdumb." 

"Why would I d-do that?" John would have had to have gotten a sudden burst of courage to have been able to say that. Even though you could easily hear the falter in his voice.

"Oh, you shouldn'a said that. Boys, show him why he should do what I tell'im ta do."

Suddenly, you hear a crash as John's chair falls to the floor. 

"Ahh! No! Put me down!" There is a loud thud as John is violently shoved against the back wall. 

Then you hear a sound that is all too familiar to you from your numerous past years of being bullied. 

They punched him. 

And it sounded like they gave him a black eye. 

Alright. 

Fuck detention.

These assholes need to be taught a lesson.


	2. John: Have an impression made on you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look   
> another lame title pun  
> hahahahah im horrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys better be grateful  
> i was feeling generous  
> you know  
> cause its my _wriggling day_

You arrive at the classroom just as the bell rings, as per usual. 

You prefer to show up to class as late as you can – without actually being late – to avoid as many encounters with Peter and his goons, as well as pretty much everyone else at this school, as you can.

Making your way back to your desk, you avoid numerous outstretched legs with the grace of a three-legged baby giraffe on drugs (but you didn't fall, and that's all that really matters). Then you set your stuff down by the next-to-last desk and take a seat. 

You _would_ sit in the last desk, but Nan- you mean _Mrs. Egbert_ wants everyone to sit as close to the front as possible; meaning no one sits in the back until every other seat is filled. Which is just great for everyone but you, as you are a prime target for bullying. With your nerdy glasses, your ability to sing (that got you landed in chorus which is more-so what they taunt you for), your slightly above average grades (due to the fact that, unlike most of your classmates, you're not completely fucking stupid), and... the, uh... the _Incident_. That you would really prefer not to recall. Ever. 

You are so busy _not recalling_ the _Incident_ , that you fail to notice that a kid that you don't know has been at the front of the classroom until you hear Na- the teacher's voice. "... Usually does that for new students."

_New students?_

You look up. 

Standing at Mrs. Egbert's desk is a kid about your height; that is to say, really short. Hanging on his back is a two-toned red bookbag with a crab-shaped symbol on it, and limply clutched in his hand is an old, rectangular, black and gray lunch box. He wears (drowns in) a black sweater, gray skinny jeans, and he has black hair and pale skin. Really pale skin. It kind of reminds you of

_Nope._ Not thinking about that. 

The guy retorts in a volume that you can easily hear, but then adds something in a quieter tone. 

Mrs. Egbert fumbles his name and apparently gets it wrong because the guy sighs and says, "It's Karkat." 

That's an interesting name. 

You glance to the left slightly. 

Realizing that one of the heads is not staring intently at the front of the room, you preform a double take to come to the conclusion that Peter is glaring at you. The look he gives you is one that almost audibly growls, _"This changes nothing."_

You go back to staring at your desk. 

As per usual, you hear your grandmoth-er, Mrs. Egbert drag him to the center of the front of the room and introduce him. She mispronounces his name a few more times, and he corrects her most of those times, before he makes his way back to the only remaining seat. The seat behind you.

Maybe you can get him to take your seat.... No, that would be mean. Throwing an innocent into the line of ridicule and occasional violence would be rude and inconsiderate and low. 

Karkat (if you heard his name right) is about halfway to you. 

Not that it really matters either way. Judging by the look Peter gave you, Karkat's arrival means nothing, and you are still a bully's cup of tea. But maybe if you get a little further away, it'll tone down a bit. 

Just as the new kid gets to your desk, you make a decision. 

You stand up, blocking his path, and quietly offer him your seat. 

Now that you're not staring at your desk like it holds all of the secrets of the universe, you can (and do) get a better look at this guy.

He's wearing Aviators, which look huge on his small head. He's two or three inches shorter than you. His raven hair is an unruly mess, as though he never gives enough of a fuck to brush it. His skin is extremely pale (as previously mentioned), and this, combined with the Aviators, reminds you of

NO. Nope. Nada. Does not compute. Try again never. 

You hear a scoff, and you flinch involuntarily. You silently plead this guy to hurry the hell up as the whispers begin. But of course he doesn't. He just kind of stands there and stares at you. Or, at least you think he's staring at you. It's kind of hard to tell through his sunglasses. 

Eventually though, he looks at the desk and mutters, "Whatever." And you breathe a sigh of relief. 

As you gather your shit, you murmur your thanks, to which he nods. 

You settle into your new seat with only a slight feeling of guilt. You have your reasons and they are good reasons. 

You lift your head as the phone rings. Mrs. Egbert answers it, and, predictably, listening to only one side of the conversation is confusing as shit. After she hangs up, she stands and tells the class that she has to step out for a few minutes, and then she leaves. 

Which leaves your classmates with a sense of longing that they decide to fill by mocking you. The usual jeers of, "Hey Fagbert," and "Eg-gay," and the memorable but un-creative as ever, "Cause _we_ don't swing that way," fill the air, and you do your best to ignore them, but they aren't exactly pick-me-ups. 

Wait. What was that? Shit, was that a chair? Shit that was a chair, and those are footsteps. Shit shit shit. Oh, great. The sound of two more chairs scraping across the floor, and two matching pairs of footsteps joining the original ones. _Shiiiiiiiit._

The familiar and unwelcome voice of Peter, privileged asshole extraordinaire, claws its way to your eardrums. You look up, really wanting none of this shit but unable to change the situation. He makes the usual comment about your grandmother and there being no one to protect you, and speaking of protection who's going to protect the new kid and why isn't Peter even acknowledging his existence and you must have looked at Karkat or something because Peter glances at him too and calls him Katness which you might actually find kinda funny if you weren't so busy being scared shitless and attempting to play it off right about now. 

"See? Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Peter tells you. 

"W-what do you want?" You ask apprehensively. 

"I wan'cha ta tell me somethin'." 

Wait, what? 

"Huh?" You are so confused right now. 

"He said he wants ya ta tell 'im somethin'!" Rob, one of Peter's goons, shouts as he slams his fist on a desk. 

"Now, now. I think he heard me. Didn'cha John?" Peter's tone oozes with condescension. 

You reluctantly nod, fearing violence if you failed to agree. 

"Good. But, _admit_ would probably be a better word... I wan'cha to _admit_ somethin' for me Egdumb." Oh, god. Where is he going with this?

You resolve to try to not find out the answer, and scrape together as much courage as you can in order to say, "Why would I d-do that?" The waver in your voice betrays you. 

Peter gives you a grin. An evil grin that strikes fear into your very core. "Oh, you shouldn'a said that. Boys, show him why he should do what I tell'im ta do."

Your eyes widen as you are grabbed and lifted into the air, sending your chair and glasses flying. 

"Ahh! No! Put me down!" You cry out in a panic before all of the air rushes from your lungs as you are roughly shoved against the back wall. 

Your head slams against the wall about the same time that a fist slams into your eye.


	3. Karkat: Start the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the more comments i get the more likely i am to post shit

Silently, you stand and survey the scene behind you. 

Two beefy guys flank a kid who appears to be the classic jock. He wears a football jersey, brand-new, baggy jeans, and a fancy pair of squeaky-clean tennis-shoes from some brand name that you don't recognize but must be popular for whatever reason. Before him, John is huddled on the floor, tightly clutching his left eye.

You deduce from the scene in front of you that one of the goons picked John up by the collar, causing his chair to fly backwards in the process, slammed him against the back wall, and punched him in the eye. Then the head-hauncho had Tweedle-dumbass let go of the poor guy so that he could make him do whatever it was that he was going to have him do. 

Spotting John's glasses near his desk, you retrieve them and place them in your pocket. Just in case the assholes try to fight back. (Not that you'll give them a chance to, but still.)

Without a sound, you advance on the bullies, locate the nearest pressure points on the goons, and easily knock both of them out.

The head-hauncho is oblivious to the loss of his goons – even as a good majority of the class gasps – because he seems to be too busy talking. 

"Are ya ready to cooperate now?" Ooh. Big word. Everybody back off. This guy is an evil mastermind. His exemplary vocabulary blatantly demonstrates this indisputable fact. 

John, having lost his glasses, most likely can't see for shit right now, so he continues to cower from the bully (singular) in front of him. 

Asshole numero uno takes John's silence as confirmation to his earlier inquiry. 

"Good. Like I said before, I wan'cha to admit somethin' for me."

Oh dear god. John is trembling. The kid is absolutely terrified. Upon closer examination, you can see tears steadily streaming down his perf- er, down his face. He is still clutching his eye, and his back is tightly pressed against the wall. 

"I wan'cha to admit to everyone..." Oh wow, a "dramatic pause". This guy is even more of an asshole than Ampora (a guy you used to know). "That you are the gayest faggot in the history of faggots." Wow. Very creative. 

Jesus. If you stay here much longer you'll turn into the doge meme. 

"Seriously? That's all you've got? You do realize how retarded that sounds, don't you? I _fart_ with more finesse than that in my sleep." Huh. Did you say that? You hadn't meant to say anything. 

Well, it's too late now. The attention-whore in front of you spins on his heels to face you with a startled and somewhat puzzled expression. His eyes frantically search the room until the dumbfuck finally spots you; taking much longer than average to see something literally RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM. 

Okay, you know that you're short, but it shouldn't have taken him that long to see you. 

You lift an eyebrow in an exaggerated expression, knowing that your silent "No. It was the Boogieman. Of course it was me you fucking idiot." would get lost in translation behind your Aviators otherwise. 

The dumbass looks behind you, searching for something. "Hey... Where are-" he seems to find what he was looking for on the floor, and his eyes go wide. "W-what happened to Rob and Jim?!"

You glance down at the mentally disabled back-up dancers you knocked out. "What? Oh, them?" You point a thumb at them over your shoulder. "I did everyone the favor of knocking them out." You have absolutely no idea where all of this confidence is coming from... But as long as it doesn't stop until you're done here, you don't care if it came from Ampora's dick. You haven't felt this good in ages.

"You did what?!" The asshole exclaims.

"I think you heard me, didn't you, shit-for-brains?" You smirk as you throw his own words back at him, albeit with a few modifications.

He stares down at you, flustered, before responding with, "Why would you do that?!"

"Do what? Show them mercy? Because that _is_ what I did, if you were wondering." You cross your arms.

"Why'd ya knock'em out?!" He nearly shouts, ignoring your previous statement. 

You sigh. Taking John's glasses out of your pocket, you toss them into his lap. "I thought that you might want to watch this." You flash him a grin he probably can't see before turning back to the asshole. "I knocked them out so that they wouldn't interfere. But now that I think about it, I should have just temporarily paralyzed them so that they could watch their 'fearless leader' wet his pants." You chuckle. 

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"This." In a flash, you have him against the wall. Clutching the collar of his jersey, you press him against the painted bricks so tightly that you hear his back pop. The air rushes out of his lungs, and he squeaks. You laugh at the pathetic noise. "It's not so fun when it's you, is it?" You ask.

"Put me down! Put me down right now! Do you know who I am?! My dad is the most richest lawyer in the county! He'll sue you!" Wow. This guy talks more than you do. And not very well. His grammar is atrocious. You never would have guessed that he was in high school had you seen him anywhere else. You should shut him up somehow.

As he continues to rant about who-knows-what, you try to just tell him to shut up. "Shut the fly-trap you call a mouth before I do it for you." You growl. 

"Don't you tell me to shut up, you filthy animal. I've seen mutts cleaner than you. You should..." That only started him off on another rant (which is ironic – the rant itself, not the fact that you set him off on another one – because you're probably the whitest guy he's ever seen), and you're running out of time.

You try intimidation. You twist his collar and press him against the wall more firmly. "Shut the fuck up."

"Hey! I just got this shirt yesterday! Watch what you're doin'! If you mess it up, I'll..." That didn't work either. 

Jesus Christ, this guy is a pain in the ass, and if he keeps shouting like that, then you'll have more teachers in here than even the teachers _themselves_ could count. You punch him in the left eye, the same one that his goons punched on John, not hard enough to bruise, but with enough force to make sure he knows you're not just shitting around. "I fucking told you to shut up."

"Oooooooow! Oh, you're gonna regret that! When I tell dad 'bout this you're gonna be toast!" This guy complains more than a teenage girl. 

You give up. There is no way that you will be able to shut him up long enough to... Wait, what was it you were trying to do again?... Oh yeah. You were going to teach him not to bully people by showing him what it feels like to be bullied. 

...

Probably not your best idea in hindsight. 

You easily end it by knocking the asshole out.


	4. John: Be the voice of the fannerds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im spoiling you fuckers  
> i really am  
> just wait like five minutes  
> i wrote something else last night

As you slip to the floor, you end up landing the wrong way on your ankle, and it twists painfully. Tears well up in your eyes that you do not currently have the control to stop. You clutch your eye with both of your hands. Ow. Yeah. That was going to bruise. 

"Are ya ready to cooperate now?" Peter asks smugly. 

You stay silent. 

He apparently takes this as confirmation. "Good. Like I said before, I wan'cha to admit somethin' for me."

The dams break and tears begin to stream down your face. Distantly, you realize you are trembling. Oh well. 

"I wan'cha to admit to everyone..." What do you know, a dramatic pause. Jeez, he's so full of himself. "That you are the gayest faggot in the history of faggots."

If you said you'd been expecting something less stupid, you'd be a filthy lier. 

"Seriously? That's all you've got? You do realize how retarded that sounds, don't you? I _fart_ with more finesse than that in my sleep." Wait, is that the new kid? 

That _was_ actually a question; you can barely see a foot in front of you without your glasses. 

You're pretty sure it was, though. Holy shit. Was he trying to get himself killed? Did he not see the two gigantic jock-goons and their puppet master? 

Actually, there is a suspicious lack of two blurry, hulking figures. 

... Did he knock them out? 

_Holy shit._

There are a few moments where nothing is said, so you have absolutely no idea what's happening. All you can see is two stationary blobs. You just imagine them having an intense epic stare-down until Peter says, "Hey... Where are-" He cuts off abruptly. "W-what happened to Rob and Jim?!"

"What? Oh, them?" The smaller blob makes a motion that you assume means he's pointing over his shoulder. "I did everyone the favor of knocking them out." 

Wow. This kid has guts. 

Lots of them. 

One might even say...

_All of the guts._

The guts were his. 

"You did what?" There are undertones of panic in Peter's voice. 

"I think you heard me, didn't you, shit-for-brains?" Fucking hell, that smug-ass voice should not be turning you on. 

"Why would you do that?!" Pfft. He sounds so distressed. You really wish you could see right about now. You're sure his face would be priceless. 

"Do what? Show them mercy? Because that _is_ what I did, if you were wondering." ~~You do not find that hot you do not find that hot you do not find that hot you do not find that hot~~

"Why'd you knock 'em out?!" Seriously. Sight would be awesome right now. 

Speak of the freaking devil. 

The new kid sighs, finally tossing you your glasses. You scramble to get them on, which is a hard thing to do when you are still clutching at your eye in pain. "I thought that you might want to watch this." You get your glasses on just in time to see the tail end of the grin he flashes you, and your cheeks definitely do not heat up. Nope. "I knocked them out so that they wouldn't interfere. But now that I think about it, I should have just temporarily paralyzed them so that they could watch their 'fearless leader' wet his pants."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"This." In the blink of an eye (get it? cause you can only see through one eye right now? haha. ha.) Karkat has Peter up against the wall by his collar. It's kinda funny to see since there is such a difference in height between the two of them. "It's not so fun when it's you, is it?" 

"Put me down! Put me down right now! Do you know who I am?! My dad is the most richest lawyer in the county! He'll sue you!" Sigh. You really have nothing to say to that. 

"Shut the fly-trap you call a mouth before I do it for you." The new kid growls. _Damn._

"Don't you tell me to shut up, you filthy animal. I've seen mutts cleaner than you. You should..." It still baffles you that this is the brains behind the horde of brawn that takes joy in tormenting you nearly every single day of your life. It is really depressing. 

"Shut the fuck up," Karkat tries again. You commend him for his efforts, trite though they might be. 

"Hey! I just got this shirt yesterday! Watch what you're doin'! If you mess it up, I'll..." This is so sad you might start crying. Oh, wait. You already are. Ha. ~~Your eye still really frigging hurts.~~

"I fucking told you to shut up." You have no idea why he keeps trying. Doesn't he know; you can't reason with stupid. 

"Oooooooow! Oh, you're gonna regret that! When I tell dad 'bout this you're gonna be toast!"

Karkat sighs. It is a long sigh. A sigh of reluctant acceptance and of defeat. A sigh that you have been waiting for for like, five minutes. 

He knocks Peter out. 

That's... Pretty much what you had in mind, actually. You're rolling with it either way.


	5. Karkat: Meet the school mail lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> schools dont have mail ladies but its more of a self appointed title anyway so  
> shes actually the secretary 
> 
> also sorry the chapters are kinda short

Sighing, you turn to John and note that he is exactly where you left him, with the exception of his glasses, which are now on his face. Kind of. He is still holding his eye, causing his glasses to be crooked, and it looks pretty stupid. 

You close the two feet between you and offer him your hand to help him up. He flinches, and you quickly retract your hand. You hadn't meant to scare him; although, you have to admit that you probably seem like a pretty scary guy right now. 

"You should probably see the nurse about that eye. It looks like it hurts." You comment softly. 

He looks up at you, most likely startled by your change in tone. "What?... Oh, my eye. Right." He laughs nervously. "Yeah. You're probably right about that. Um, about the nurse thing, not the part about my eye hurting. I mean, it does hurt, but-" The poor guy is just confusing himself, so you help him out a bit. 

You offer him your hand again, more slowly this time. "Well, come on then. Quit talking and start walking. It would be nice if it looked like I was helping you when that other teacher comes in to check on the class." You give him a small, barely-there smile. 

He just stares at you. This goes on long enough for your minuscule smile to return to its regular grimace. Maybe he hit his head a little too hard. 

He snaps out of whatever came over him and takes your hand, using it as leverage to lift himself off the ground. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

You give him another small smile before briefly glancing behind you, only to see the hoard of assholes all turned around in their seats, staring at you. At least they were until they noticed you looking at them, at which point they quickly turned back to face the front of the classroom. 

Having only looked away for a single, literal second, you turn back to John just in time to have him faceplant into your chest. 

"Mmrph!" As suddenly as it happened, John is off of you, leaning against the wall and apologizing profusely. "Oh man, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that! I just tripped! It was an accident, I swear! I twisted my ankle earlier and it still hurts so when I tried to put pressure on it I fell and-" What is it with the kids at this school and not being able to shut the fuck up?

"Look. It's okay. I know you didn't mean to trip, so could you stop apologizing? You need to get to the nurse, and I'd like to be able to make that happen before next week." You interrupt him.

He freezes. "Oh, uh, right... Oh, wait! Sorry. I was supposed to be quiet. Wait, no. I was supposed to stop apologizing. Sorr-" he slaps a hand over his mouth as he realizes what he was about to do. "I, er, I'll just shut up now." He says, the sound of his voice muffled by his hand. 

You roll your eyes and suppress a chuckle. "Whatever. Just come on." He yelps in surprise as you take his arm and wrap it around your shoulder, letting him lean on you for support. 

You may be small, but you're really fucking strong. 

You walk him to the last row of desks, at which point you let him use the desks for support, because god _damn_ why do teachers always put the desks so fucking close together? It's stupid, and useless, and they must think that it helps you learn or some shit, because why else would they do something that fucking dumb? 

You decide to issue a warning to all the dumbasses with mental shortcomings who are without a doubt going to try something stupid. "If any of you cockmunchers want to try something, you can join those dumbfucks in the back." You swear you heard at least five people pull their legs back under their desks. You grimace more intensely at this; how could people be such fucking _assholes_?

Whatever; you've reached the edge of the sea of desks. 

You turn around to continue your position as a human crutch just as the classroom door opens. 

You freeze. This is not good. How are you going to explain this? You don't know anything about this school. Anything about the boneblowers currently in dream land at the rear of the classroom other that the fact that they're homophobic jocks. You don't know what the teachers here think of them what the teachers would believe what you could get away with saying _what are you going to say **how are yo-**_

A voice behind you interrupts your inner freak out. "John? What... Why are...? What happened?" You guess that confirms that his name is John. 

"Ms. Postal! Hi! Uh, well, Peter, Jim and Rob started fighting, so I got up and tried to break it up, but I ended up accidentally receiving a badly aimed punch. Then I twisted my ankle, and they knocked each other out." Damn. The kid has more talent than you gave credit for. That actually sounded vaguely believable. He better fucking enjoy your silent applause. 

The woman behind you sighs; you imagine her shaking her head. "Well, at least you're mostly unharmed. Do you need any help getting to the nurse? I assume that is where you were headed, anyway."

"No, I'm fine. Actually, Karkat...?" He looks to you, tone hesitant and uncertain as he says your name, as if asking if he got your name right. You nod, and he grins (damn, he has a great smile) before resuming his statement. "Was going to help me." 

"Oh?"

You feel like you should turn around or something. 

You do so, stepping back a bit, closer to John in case he needs more support.

"Yeah. He's new. Just got here a few minutes ago, actually."

The woman in the doorway is of average height, with slightly tanned skin and black eyes. She wears a dull gold vest over a white button-up, along with khaki pants. She smiles at you. "Well, I hope you like it here, then. It's nice to meet you, Karkat."

"You too," you reply eloquently. 

"Right." John wraps his arm around your shoulders, "We're going to go to the nurse, now. Have a nice day!" You get the feeling he would be leading you out of the classroom if he could walk by himself. So you start making your way toward the door. 

"Oh, of course!" Ms. Postal says, moving out of the doorway. "Feel better soon, John. And stay out of trouble!" She calls as the two of you make your way out the door and down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment your guess of who ms postal and ms prosarch are canonically


	6. John: Be more competent than expected of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its short but the next chapter will be longer
> 
> also whoops i changed my mind ms postal is the principal

You really don't mean to flinch when he holds his hand out to you. It is just an involuntary reflex. 

"You should probably see the nurse about that eye. It looks like it hurts."

You look up, admittedly a bit startled by his soft tone. "What?... Oh, my eye. Right." You chuckle. Wow. Way to go, John. A+ listening skills right there. "Yeah. You're probably right about that. Um, about the nurse thing, not the part about my eye hurting. I mean, it does hurt, but-" You have officially lost your own point. Seriously, why are people not lining up from miles around to point and laugh at how much of an doofus you are? You could be you own one-man circus. 

"Well, come on then. Quit talking and start walking. It would be nice if it looked like I was helping you when that other teacher comes in to check on the class." He offers you his hand again, and you can't help but wonder why he's doing this. Helping you. Risking his own butt to save your sorry one. What makes you so special? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don't deserve his help; you practically attempted to use him as a meat shield! Why is he helping you when you so obviously don't deserve it? Why would he- oh, look, he's scowling. Great. Perfect time to go off on a self-deprecating mindrant, John! How did you _know?_

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." You take his hand and begin pulling yourself to your feet. 

He looks away as you do so - after offering you a small smile, of course - and right now is really not the best time for you to remember you twisted your ankle earlier. 

It should come as a surprise to no one when you faceplant in his chest. 

"Mmrph!" You're off of him and leaning back against the wall half a second later. "Oh man, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that! I just tripped! It was an accident, I swear! I twisted my ankle earlier and it still hurts so when I tried to put pressure on it I fell and-" 

"Look. It's okay. I know you didn't mean to trip, so could you stop apologizing? You need to get to the nurse, and I'd like to be able to make that happen before next week."

"Oh, uh, right... Oh, wait! Sorry. I was supposed to be quiet. Wait, no. I was supposed to stop apologizing. Sorr-" you slap a hand over your mouth because aren't you just a freaking genius? "I, er, I'll just shut up now." 

He seems vaguely amused. "Whatever. Just come on." 

You yelp as he takes your arm and slings it over his shoulder. He walks you to the edge of the sea of desks like that, then lets go of you so you can both actually get to the front of the classroom. 

"If any of you cockmunchers want to try something, you can join those dumbfucks in the back." Interesting word choice. 

It works, though, and you see a few people pull their legs back under their desks and feign ignorance by looking away. 

Once you reach the front of the classroom, Karkat turns around, presumably to help you again, and the door opens. One of these things is not like the other. 

Ms. Postal walks in and freezes. "John? What... Why are...? What happened?" 

Oh shit. The new kid looks slightly panicked behind his sunglasses. "Ms. Postal! Hi!" You grin, hoping your nervousness doesn't show. "Uh, well, Peter, Jim and Rob started fighting, so I got up and tried to break it up, but I ended up accidentally receiving a badly aimed punch. Then I twisted my ankle, and they knocked each other out," you tell her. She'll probably believe you; you know most of the teachers and staff because they know your grandma. They all like you, too. 

She sighs, looking to the back of the room and shaking her head. "Well, at least you're mostly unharmed. Do you need any help getting to the nurse? I assume that is where you were headed, anyway."

"No, I'm fine. Actually, Karkat...?" Your tone ends in a questioning lilt as you glance at him; you think you have his name right, but you're not one hundred percent sure. You grin as he nods, looking a lot less like he was going to bolt, proud that you heard and remembered it correctly. You turn back to Ms. Postal, finishing your statement. "Was going to help me." 

She quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. "Oh?"

Karkat turns around, facing Ms. Postal at last. 

You nod. "Yeah. He's new. Just got here a few minutes ago, actually."

"Well, I hope you like it here, then. It's nice to meet you, Karkat." Ms. Postal smiles at him. 

"You too," he says stiffly. 

"Right." You mercifully end that awkward conversation, putting your arm back around Karkat's shoulders. "We're going to go to the nurse, now. Have a nice day!"

Thankfully, Karkat gets your hint and starts walking toward the door. 

"Oh, of course," Ms. Postal exclaims, stepping to the side to let the two of you out the door. "Feel better soon, John. And stay out of trouble!" She smiles and gently pats your shoulder as you pass her. You lean on Karkat and let him lead you down the hallway.


	7. Karkat: Change perspectives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is this???  
> a longer chapter??????  
> woaaaaaahh  
> enjoy it nerdels

You have no idea where the nurse's office is. 

It's a good thing John seems to, though. 

He caught on pretty quickly after the two of you came to the first split in the hall where you hesitated and glanced uncertainly between both paths. He grinned as he told you to take the left one, and has been directing you ever since. Eventually, just as John tells you it's right around the corner, someone calls out to you. 

"Hey, kid!"

Oh shit oh fuck this isn't happening this isn't happening just keep walking it can't be who you think it is-

"Kid! Quit runnin' from me! I got somethin' ta show ya!" It is only now that you notice the footsteps that accompany the voice. Fucking hell, you thought you were trained better than that. 

You stop. 

Goddamnit, why does your life have to be _so fucking difficult?_

The footsteps stop a few feet behind you as you slowly turn around. John shoots you a curious look, but you elect to ignore it, instead focusing on the figure now in front of you because _what the fuck is he wearing._

Your father smirks at you (maybe it's supposed to be a smile?) with his hands on his hips. He is wearing a blindingly white uniform with gold lettering over his heart that reads, _Prospit Academy Janitorial Staff_ underneath which is a gray patch that proclaims _**JACK NOIR**_ in a black, blocky font. 

"What the taintsoaking fuck are you wearing," you deadpan. 

He snorts, as though it is supposed to be obvious (which it is), and crosses his arms over his chest. "Really, kid? I thought I raised ya smarter than this. It's a uniform."

You roll your eyes and scoff. "I can see _what_ it is," you snark. "Why the fuck are you wearing it?"

"Cause I haf'ta." He drawls. 

You narrow your eyes. 

"I got a job 'ere!" He exclaims, indignant. 

Your jaw drops. You are pleasantly surprised when the floor is not smashed to so much sorry debris by your falling jaw. 

"What," you manage to choke out. 

"You heard me," he huffs, stance defensive, pissed off at the fact that you don't believe him. 

You gape. Jaw slack and stare dry. Because your father. 

Spades Slick. 

The notorious mobster. 

Got a _job._

At your new fucking _**high school**_ no less. 

What the hell is your life. 

 

==> Karkat: Be John. 

 

"It's right around this corner," you tell Karkat. 

Just then, a voice calls out from behind you, "Hey, kid!"

What?

"Kid! Quit runnin' from me! I got somethin' ta show ya!"

You don't recognize that voice. This is a weird feeling for you. 

Karkat freezes. You guess he knows this guy. 

As he slowly turns around, taking you with him as you are still using him for support, you give him a questioning look. He either doesn't notice it, or he ignores you. 

"What the taintsoaking fuck are you wearing," it sounded more like a statement than a question. 

The guy snorts and crosses his arms. "Really, kid? I thought I raised ya smarter than this. It's a uniform."

Karkat rolls his eyes and scoffs. "I can see _what_ it is. Why the fuck are you wearing it?"

"Cause I haf'ta." 

Karkat narrows his eyes. 

"I got a job 'ere!" The man exclaims, close to pouting. 

Indeed, he is wearing a janitor's uniform, dark skin made more apparent by the fluorescent jumpsuit. He is maybe 5'7" and his fingers are adorned with a myriad of rings (all of them are black or silver), a row of them suspiciously resembling knuckle dusters. His teeth are pretty sharp, you notice as he opens his mouth. 

"What," Karkat says. 

"You heard me." Mr. Noir huffs. 

There is an awkward moment of silence. 

"Anyways, where're ya headed? An' who's tha stiff?" He nods at you. You have a feeling this is an insult. 

" _This_ ," there is a barely-registrable pause; you realize he doesn't actually know your name. Oops. "Is John." Well, he knows your first name, apparently. "I just saved his sorry ass from some douchebags with mental shortcomings so immense, it's a wonder they could even function. And, no. Before you ask, none of the teachers saw; calm your shit. I'm taking this nerd to the nurse, now. He twisted his ankle and got himself a black eye."

Mr. Noir perks up at this. "Tha nurse, ya say?" 

Karkat nods skeptically. 

"Let me help ya, then!"

"No." Karkat frowns. 

"What? Why not?"

"Don't you have some shit to clean or something? You do have a _job_ now, right?"

Mr. Noir's lips pull down at the corners before he leans in close to Karkat, whispering, "Alright, look. Tha nurse is a real hot babe, and I wanna try ta score some points, right? So, why don'cha jus' let me help out tha kid 'ere, an' you can help out your ol' man a bit?"

Karkat looks disgusted, annoyed, and done with this shit, all at once. " _Jack._ Just go do your fucking _job_. No one wants to see your pathetic attempts at flirting, least of all _me_ , and I highly doubt it would be a pleasurable experience for John, either."

Now the man really is pouting, lips turned down and eyebrows drawn together in a mock expression of hurt. "Ya wound me, kid. I thought ya cared for me."

"What, and have a weak link? Why, _Noir_ , I would _never_!" Karkat really likes sarcasm, you have noticed. 

"Heh, alright, alright, I get it." He softly punches Karkat on the shoulder, a fond smirk on his face. "Could ya at least put in a good word for me?"

You can't actually see it, but you think Karkat rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says begrudgingly, a faint smile gracing his features. 

"That's ma' boy!" Noir exclaims, grinning. 

"Now, get outta here, ya geezer. You got a job to do." Karkat grins, making shooing motions. 

"Alright, alright! I'm goin', I'm goin'!" Noir calls behind him as he walks away. 

When you look back at Karkat, his sunglasses are shoved up in his hair and he's rubbing his face exasperatedly. "Sorry about that." He pulls his glasses back over his eyes before reopening them. " _Jesus Christ_ , I didn't know he would get a _job_." He shakes his head. 

You tilt yours to the side questioningly. "Was that your dad?" 

Karkat turns you around and answers as he starts walking again, "Unfortunately."

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah  
> comment and let me know shit  
> how you felt if i get anything wrong yknow shit like that  
> i live for your comments guys i dont think you get that  
> 


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